The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter 90. The Meeting
After Mercédès had left Monte Cristo, he fell into profound gloom.Around him and within him the flight of thought seemed to have stopped;his energetic mind slumbered, as the body does after extreme fatigue.
“What?” said he to himself, while the lamp and the wax lights werenearly burnt out, and the servants were waiting impatiently in theanteroom; “what? this edifice which I have been so long preparing, whichI have reared with so much care and toil, is to be crushed by a singletouch, a word, a breath! Yes, this self, of whom I thought so much, ofwhom I was so proud, who had appeared so worthless in the dungeons ofthe Château d’If, and whom I had succeeded in making so great, will bebut a lump of clay tomorrow. Alas, it is not the death of the body Iregret; for is not the destruction of the vital principle, the repose towhich everything is tending, to which every unhappy being aspires,—isnot this the repose of matter after which I so long sighed, and which Iwas seeking to attain by the painful process of starvation when Fariaappeared in my dungeon? What is death for me? One step farther intorest,—two, perhaps, into silence. No, it is not existence, then, that Iregret, but the ruin of projects so slowly carried out, so laboriouslyframed. Providence is now opposed to them, when I most thought it wouldbe propitious. It is not God’s will that they should be accomplished.This burden, almost as heavy as a world, which I had raised, and I hadthought to bear to the end, was too great for my strength, and I wascompelled to lay it down in the middle of my career. Oh, shall I then,again become a fatalist, whom fourteen years of despair and ten of hopehad rendered a believer in Providence?
“And all this—all this, because my heart, which I thought dead, was onlysleeping; because it has awakened and has begun to beat again, because Ihave yielded to the pain of the emotion excited in my breast by awoman’s voice.
“Yet,” continued the count, becoming each moment more absorbed in theanticipation of the dreadful sacrifice for the morrow, which Mercédèshad accepted, “yet, it is impossible that so noble-minded a woman shouldthus through selfishness consent to my death when I am in the prime oflife and strength; it is impossible that she can carry to such a pointmaternal love, or rather delirium. There are virtues which become crimesby exaggeration. No, she must have conceived some pathetic scene; shewill come and throw herself between us; and what would be sublime herewill there appear ridiculous.”
The blush of pride mounted to the count’s forehead as this thoughtpassed through his mind.
“Ridiculous?” repeated he; “and the ridicule will fall on me. Iridiculous? No, I would rather die.”
By thus exaggerating to his own mind the anticipated ill-fortune of thenext day, to which he had condemned himself by promising Mercédès tospare her son, the count at last exclaimed:
“Folly, folly, folly!—to carry generosity so far as to put myself up asa mark for that young man to aim at. He will never believe that my deathwas suicide; and yet it is important for the honor of my memory,—andthis surely is not vanity, but a justifiable pride,—it is important theworld should know that I have consented, by my free will, to stop myarm, already raised to strike, and that with the arm which has been sopowerful against others I have struck myself. It must be; it shall be.”
Seizing a pen, he drew a paper from a secret drawer in his desk, andwrote at the bottom of the document (which was no other than his will,made since his arrival in Paris) a sort of codicil, clearly explainingthe nature of his death.
“I do this, Oh, my God,” said he, with his eyes raised to heaven, “asmuch for thy honor as for mine. I have during ten years consideredmyself the agent of thy vengeance, and other wretches, like Morcerf,Danglars, Villefort, even Morcerf himself, must not imagine that chancehas freed them from their enemy. Let them know, on the contrary, thattheir punishment, which had been decreed by Providence, is only delayedby my present determination, and although they escape it in this world,it awaits them in another, and that they are only exchanging time foreternity.”
While he was thus agitated by gloomy uncertainties,—wretched wakingdreams of grief,—the first rays of morning pierced his windows, andshone upon the pale blue paper on which he had just inscribed hisjustification of Providence.
It was just five o’clock in the morning when a slight noise like astifled sigh reached his ear. He turned his head, looked around him, andsaw no one; but the sound was repeated distinctly enough to convince himof its reality.
He arose, and quietly opening the door of the drawing-room, saw Haydée,who had fallen on a chair, with her arms hanging down and her beautifulhead thrown back. She had been standing at the door, to prevent hisgoing out without seeing her, until sleep, which the young cannotresist, had overpowered her frame, wearied as she was with watching. Thenoise of the door did not awaken her, and Monte Cristo gazed at her withaffectionate regret.
“She remembered that she had a son,” said he; “and I forgot I had adaughter.” Then, shaking his head sorrowfully, “Poor Haydée,” said he;“she wished to see me, to speak to me; she has feared or guessedsomething. Oh, I cannot go without taking leave of her; I cannot diewithout confiding her to someone.”
He quietly regained his seat, and wrote under the other lines:
“I bequeath to Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis,—and son of myformer patron, Pierre Morrel, shipowner at Marseilles,—the sum of twentymillions, a part of which may be offered to his sister Julie andbrother-in-law Emmanuel, if he does not fear this increase of fortunemay mar their happiness. These twenty millions are concealed in mygrotto at Monte Cristo, of which Bertuccio knows the secret. If hisheart is free, and he will marry Haydée, the daughter of Ali Pasha ofYanina, whom I have brought up with the love of a father, and who hasshown the love and tenderness of a daughter for me, he will thusaccomplish my last wish. This will has already constituted Haydéeheiress of the rest of my fortune, consisting of lands, funds inEngland, Austria, and Holland, furniture in my different palaces andhouses, and which without the twenty millions and the legacies to myservants, may still amount to sixty millions.”
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He was finishing the last line when a cry behind him made him start, andthe pen fell from his hand.
“Haydée,” said he, “did you read it?”
“Oh, my lord,” said she, “why are you writing thus at such an hour? Whyare you bequeathing all your fortune to me? Are you going to leave me?”
“I am going on a journey, dear child,” said Monte Cristo, with anexpression of infinite tenderness and melancholy; “and if any misfortuneshould happen to me——”
The count stopped.
“Well?” asked the young girl, with an authoritative tone the count hadnever observed before, and which startled him.
“Well, if any misfortune happen to me,” replied Monte Cristo, “I wish mydaughter to be happy.” Haydée smiled sorrowfully, and shook her head.
“Do you think of dying, my lord?” said she.
“The wise man, my child, has said, ‘It is good to think of death.’”
“Well, if you die,” said she, “bequeath your fortune to others, for ifyou die I shall require nothing;” and, taking the paper, she tore it infour pieces, and threw it into the middle of the room. Then, the efforthaving exhausted her strength, she fell, not asleep this time, butfainting on the floor.
The count leaned over her and raised her in his arms; and seeing thatsweet pale face, those lovely eyes closed, that beautiful formmotionless and to all appearance lifeless, the idea occurred to him forthe first time, that perhaps she loved him otherwise than as a daughterloves a father.
“Alas,” murmured he, with intense suffering, “I might, then, have beenhappy yet.”
Then he carried Haydée to her room, resigned her to the care of herattendants, and returning to his study, which he shut quickly this time,he again copied the destroyed will. As he was finishing, the sound of acabriolet entering the yard was heard. Monte Cristo approached thewindow, and saw Maximilian and Emmanuel alight. “Good,” said he;
A moment afterwards he heard a noise in the drawing-room, and went toopen the door himself. Morrel was there; he had come twenty minutesbefore the time appointed.
“I am perhaps come too soon, count,” said he, “but I frankly acknowledgethat I have not closed my eyes all night, nor has anyone in my house. Ineed to see you strong in your courageous assurance, to recover myself.”
Monte Cristo could not resist this proof of affection; he not onlyextended his hand to the young man, but flew to him with open arms.
“Morrel,” said he, “it is a happy day for me, to feel that I am belovedby such a man as you. Good-morning, Emmanuel; you will come with methen, Maximilian?”
“Did you doubt it?” said the young captain.
“But if I were wrong——”
“I watched you during the whole scene of that challenge yesterday; Ihave been thinking of your firmness all night, and I said to myself thatjustice must be on your side, or man’s countenance is no longer to berelied on.”
“But, Morrel, Albert is your friend?”
“Simply an acquaintance, sir.”
“You met on the same day you first saw me?”
“Yes, that is true; but I should not have recollected it if you had notreminded me.”
“Thank you, Morrel.” Then ringing the bell once, “Look.” said he to Ali,who came immediately, “take that to my solicitor. It is my will, Morrel.When I am dead, you will go and examine it.”
“What?” said Morrel, “you dead?”
“Yes; must I not be prepared for everything, dear friend? But what didyou do yesterday after you left me?”
“I went to Tortoni’s, where, as I expected, I found Beauchamp andChâteau-Renaud. I own I was seeking them.”
“Why, when all was arranged?”
“Listen, count; the affair is serious and unavoidable.”
“Did you doubt it!”
“No; the offence was public, and everyone is already talking of it.”
“Well?”
“Well, I hoped to get an exchange of arms,—to substitute the sword forthe pistol; the pistol is blind.”
“Have you succeeded?” asked Monte Cristo quickly, with an imperceptiblegleam of hope.
“No; for your skill with the sword is so well known.”
“Ah?—who has betrayed me?”
“The skilful swordsman whom you have conquered.”
“And you failed?”
“They positively refused.”
“Morrel,” said the count, “have you ever seen me fire a pistol?”
“Never.”
“Well, we have time; look.” Monte Cristo took the pistols he held in hishand when Mercédès entered, and fixing an ace of clubs against the ironplate, with four shots he successively shot off the four sides of theclub. At each shot Morrel turned pale. He examined the bullets withwhich Monte Cristo performed this dexterous feat, and saw that they wereno larger than buckshot.
“It is astonishing,” said he. “Look, Emmanuel.” Then turning towardsMonte Cristo, “Count,” said he, “in the name of all that is dear to you,I entreat you not to kill Albert!—the unhappy youth has a mother.”
“You are right,” said Monte Cristo; “and I have none.” These words wereuttered in a tone which made Morrel shudder.
“You are the offended party, count.”
“Doubtless; what does that imply?”
“That you will fire first.”
“I fire first?”
“Oh, I obtained, or rather claimed that; we had conceded enough for themto yield us that.”
“And at what distance?”
“Twenty paces.” A smile of terrible import passed over the count’s lips.
“Morrel,” said he, “do not forget what you have just seen.”
“The only chance for Albert’s safety, then, will arise from youremotion.”
“I suffer from emotion?” said Monte Cristo.
“Or from your generosity, my friend; to so good a marksman as you are, Imay say what would appear absurd to another.”
“What is that?”
“Break his arm—wound him—but do not kill him.”
“I will tell you, Morrel,” said the count, “that I do not needentreating to spare the life of M. de Morcerf; he shall be so wellspared, that he will return quietly with his two friends, while I——”
“And you?”
“That will be another thing; I shall be brought home.”
“No, no,” cried Maximilian, quite unable to restrain his feelings.
“As I told you, my dear Morrel, M. de Morcerf will kill me.”
Morrel looked at him in utter amazement. “But what has happened, then,since last evening, count?”
“The same thing that happened to Brutus the night before the battle ofPhilippi; I have seen a ghost.”
“And that ghost——”
“Told me, Morrel, that I had lived long enough.”
Maximilian and Emmanuel looked at each other. Monte Cristo drew out hiswatch. “Let us go,” said he; “it is five minutes past seven, and theappointment was for eight o’clock.”
A carriage was in readiness at the door. Monte Cristo stepped into itwith his two friends. He had stopped a moment in the passage to listenat a door, and Maximilian and Emmanuel, who had considerately passedforward a few steps, thought they heard him answer by a sigh to a sobfrom within. As the clock struck eight they drove up to the place ofmeeting.
“We are first,” said Morrel, looking out of the window.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Baptistin, who had followed his master withindescribable terror, “but I think I see a carriage down there under thetrees.”
Monte Cristo sprang lightly from the carriage, and offered his hand toassist Emmanuel and Maximilian. The latter retained the count’s handbetween his.
“I like,” said he, “to feel a hand like this, when its owner relies onthe goodness of his cause.”
“It seems to me,” said Emmanuel, “that I see two young men down there,who are evidently, waiting.”
Monte Cristo drew Morrel a step or two behind his brother-in-law.
“Maximilian,” said he, “are your affections disengaged?” Morrel lookedat Monte Cristo with astonishment. “I do not seek your confidence, mydear friend. I only ask you a simple question; answer it;—that is all Irequire.”
“I love a young girl, count.”
“Do you love her much?”
“More than my life.”
“Another hope defeated!” said the count. Then, with a sigh, “PoorHaydée!” murmured he.
“To tell the truth, count, if I knew less of you, I should think thatyou were less brave than you are.”
“Because I sigh when thinking of someone I am leaving? Come, Morrel, itis not like a soldier to be so bad a judge of courage. Do I regret life?What is it to me, who have passed twenty years between life and death?Moreover, do not alarm yourself, Morrel; this weakness, if it is such,is betrayed to you alone. I know the world is a drawing-room, from whichwe must retire politely and honestly; that is, with a bow, and our debtsof honor paid.”
“That is to the purpose. Have you brought your arms?”
“I?—what for? I hope these gentlemen have theirs.”
“I will inquire,” said Morrel.
“Do; but make no treaty—you understand me?”
“You need not fear.” Morrel advanced towards Beauchamp and Château-Renaud, who, seeing his intention, came to meet him. The three young menbowed to each other courteously, if not affably.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Morrel, “but I do not see M. de Morcerf.”
“He sent us word this morning,” replied Château-Renaud, “that he wouldmeet us on the ground.”
“Ah,” said Morrel. Beauchamp pulled out his watch.
“It is only five minutes past eight,” said he to Morrel; “there is notmuch time lost yet.”
“Oh, I made no allusion o
“There is a carriage coming,” said Château-Renaud. It advanced rapidlyalong one of the avenues leading towards the open space where they wereassembled.
“You are doubtless provided with pistols, gentlemen? M. de Monte Cristoyields his right of using his.”
“We had anticipated this kindness on the part of the count,” saidBeauchamp, “and I have brought some weapons which I bought eight or tendays since, thinking to want them on a similar occasion. They are quitenew, and have not yet been used. Will you examine them.”
“Oh, M. Beauchamp, if you assure me that M. de Morcerf does not knowthese pistols, you may readily believe that your word will be quitesufficient.”
“Gentlemen,” said Château-Renaud, “it is not Morcerf coming in thatcarriage;—faith, it is Franz and Debray!”
The two young men he announced were indeed approaching. “What chancebrings you here, gentlemen?” said Château-Renaud, shaking hands witheach of them.
“Because,” said Debray, “Albert sent this morning to request us tocome.” Beauchamp and Château-Renaud exchanged looks of astonishment. “Ithink I understand his reason,” said Morrel.
“What is it?”
“Yesterday afternoon I received a letter from M. de Morcerf, begging meto attend the Opera.”
“And I,” said Debray.
“And I also,” said Franz.
“And we, too,” added Beauchamp and Château-Renaud.
“Having wished you all to witness the challenge, he now wishes you to bepresent at the combat.”
“Exactly so,” said the young men; “you have probably guessed right.”
“But, after all these arrangements, he does not come himself,” saidChâteau-Renaud. “Albert is ten minutes after time.”
“There he comes,” said Beauchamp, “on horseback, at full gallop,followed by a servant.”
“How imprudent,” said Château-Renaud, “to come on horseback to fight aduel with pistols, after all the instructions I had given him.”
“And besides,” said Beauchamp, “with a collar above his cravat, an opencoat and white waistcoat! Why has he not painted a spot upon hisheart?—it would have been more simple.”
Meanwhile Albert had arrived within ten paces of the group formed by thefive young men. He jumped from his horse, threw the bridle on hisservant’s arms, and joined them. He was pale, and his eyes were red andswollen; it was evident that he had not slept. A shade of melancholygravity overspread his countenance, which was not natural to him.
“I thank you, gentlemen,” said he, “for having complied with my request;I feel extremely grateful for this mark of friendship.” Morrel hadstepped back as Morcerf approached, and remained at a short distance.“And to you also, M. Morrel, my thanks are due. Come, there cannot betoo many.”
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“Sir,” said Maximilian, “you are not perhaps aware that I am M. de MonteCristo’s friend?”
“I was not sure, but I thought it might be so. So much the better; themore honorable men there are here the better I shall be satisfied.”
“M. Morrel,” said Château-Renaud, “will you apprise the Count of MonteCristo that M. de Morcerf is arrived, and we are at his disposal?”
Morrel was preparing to fulfil his commission. Beauchamp had meanwhiledrawn the box of pistols from the carriage.
“Stop, gentlemen,” said Albert; “I have two words to say to the Count ofMonte Cristo.”
“In private?” asked Morrel.
“No, sir; before all who are here.”
Albert’s witnesses looked at each other. Franz and Debray exchanged somewords in a whisper, and Morrel, rejoiced at this unexpected incident,went to fetch the count, who was walking in a retired path withEmmanuel.
“What does he want with me?” said Monte Cristo.
“I do not know, but he wishes to speak to you.”
“Ah?” said Monte Cristo, “I trust he is not going to tempt me by somefresh insult!”
“I do not think that such is his intention,” said Morrel.
The count advanced, accompanied by Maximilian and Emmanuel. His calm andserene look formed a singular contrast to Albert’s grief-stricken face,who approached also, followed by the other four young men.
When at three paces distant from each other, Albert and the countstopped.
“Approach, gentlemen,” said Albert; “I wish you not to lose one word ofwhat I am about to have the honor of saying to the Count of MonteCristo, for it must be repeated by you to all who will listen to it,strange as it may appear to you.”
“Proceed, sir,” said the count.
“Sir,” said Albert, at first with a tremulous voice, but which graduallybecame firmer, “I reproached you with exposing the conduct of M. deMorcerf in Epirus, for guilty as I knew he was, I thought you had noright to punish him; but I have since learned that you had that right.It is not Fernand Mondego’s treachery towards Ali Pasha which induces meso readily to excuse you, but the treachery of the fisherman Fernandtowards you, and the almost unheard-of miseries which were itsconsequences; and I say, and proclaim it publicly, that you werejustified in revenging yourself on my father, and I, his son, thank youfor not using greater severity.”
Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of the spectators of thisunexpected scene, it would not have surprised them more than didAlbert’s declaration. As for Monte Cristo, his eyes slowly rose towardsheaven with an expression of infinite gratitude. He could not understandhow Albert’s fiery nature, of which he had seen so much among the Romanbandits, had suddenly stooped to this humiliation. He recognized theinfluence of Mercédès, and saw why her noble heart had not opposed thesacrifice she knew beforehand would be useless.
“Now, sir,” said Albert, “if you think my apology sufficient, pray giveme your hand. Next to the merit of infallibility which you appear topossess, I rank that of candidly acknowledging a fault. But thisconfession concerns me only. I acted well as a man, but you have actedbetter than man. An angel alone could have saved one of us fromdeath—that angel came from heaven, if not to make us friends (which,alas, fatality renders impossible), at least to make us esteem eachother.”
Monte Cristo, with moistened eye, heaving breast, and lips half open,extended to Albert a hand which the latter pressed with a sentimentresembling respectful fear.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “M. de Monte Cristo receives my apology. I hadacted hastily towards him. Hasty actions are generally bad ones. Now myfault is repaired. I hope the world will not call me cowardly for actingas my conscience dictated. But if anyone should entertain a falseopinion of me,” added he, drawing himself up as if he would challengeboth friends and enemies, “I shall endeavor to correct his mistake.”
“What happened during the night?” asked Beauchamp of Château-Renaud; “weappear to make a very sorry figure here.”
“In truth, what Albert has just done is either very despicable or verynoble,” replied the baron.
“What can it mean?” said Debray to Franz.
“The Count of Monte Cristo acts dishonorably to M. de Morcerf, and isjustified by his son! Had I ten Yaninas in my family, I should onlyconsider myself the more bound to fight ten times.”
As for Monte Cristo, his headcwas bent down, his arms were powerless.Bowing under the weight of twenty-four years’ reminiscences, he thoughtnot of Albert, of Beauchamp, of Château-Renaud, or of any of that group;but he thought of that courageous woman who had come to plead for herson’s life, to whom he had offered his, and who had now saved it by therevelation of a dreadful family secret, capable of destroying forever inthat young man’s heart every feeling of filial piety.
“Providence still,” murmured he; “now only am I fully convinced of beingthe emissary of God!”